Whisper of a Mouse
by Cheshirewocky
Summary: "You know, one day, we're gonna be full mages, and then we'll get called out of the tower like they do whenever people need help. Then we'll help so many people with our magic that they won't be scared of us anymore." There was so much conviction in his words that Callie had no trouble believing him. "I think we'll have to help a lot of people," Callie replied. (Amell Origin)
1. Scarecrows

_Whisper of a Mouse_

 _A.K.A._

 _The Very, Very Detailed, Long-Winded Account and Character Study of My Amell Mage, More or Less_

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Scarecrows**

Callie sat trembling in a hard wooden chair in the First enchanter's private office, her bare feet dangling down without touching the floor. She clutched the sleeves of her nightgown in her fingers, holding her wrist to her chest and rubbing it where it hurt from the templar's grip. Her face felt terribly hot and her lip kept trembling, but she was trying very hard not to cry.

She didn't know who she was supposed to look at, so she looked around between everyone. There was the first enchanter, sitting behind his desk. He had a big, bushy beard and so many wrinkles that it made any change in his expression easy to notice, though he wasn't usually very expressive. His eyes always looked warm, if tired, like now. Callie wanted to look at him, but even when he looked back, he seemed like he didn't care to do anything other than sit there and watch what happened. There was a templar standing by his desk, the knight-commander, whom she hadn't seen since her first day at the Circle and who wore fancier armor than the other templars. He wasn't as hairy or wrinkled as the first enchanter, but his face always looked tight and stern. Callie didn't want to look at him, because she didn't want him to look at her, but the templar guard was talking to him like he was the one who would handle everything.

The templar guard...he was one of the guards for the children's dormitory, and Callie liked it best when he wasn't on duty. From what she heard, he was new to the Circle too, and he didn't seem to like the children anymore than she and the others liked having him there. He was always angry for some reason she didn't understand, and he was always taking it out on them, watching them like a hawk for any troublemaking.

He was hard not to look at, because he was very large and very tall, and he was looming over her chair so closely that she had to crane her neck to see his face. She shrank toward the armrest opposite him when he made wide gestures, waving around what he'd taken from her and showing it to the other two men with a sneer. He was talking, but she didn't really listen to what he was saying because she was tired, and scared of getting in trouble, and looking at the men's faces for any sign of what that trouble would be.

Finally, the first enchanter raised a hand, halting the guard's words. A precious beat of quiet followed, one where no one looked or sounded like they were about to start fighting. Then the first enchanter looked across the desk at her.

"Serah Calise Amell, I believe?" he asked kindly. No one interrupted, and Callie knew the other men were watching her as well. She nodded slowly.

"Y-Yes, ser," she murmured, her voice quavering around the lump in her throat. He seemed to sag a little, just very slightly, like his wrinkles had suddenly gotten heavier.

"Can you tell us, child, how you came by this object?" He gestured his hand toward the item almost completely obscured by the guard's giant fingers.

"I m-made it, s-ser." Her heart hammered in her chest. Her thoughts flew quickly as she tried to figure out what she'd done so wrong.

"Made it?" He sounded surprised. "How?"

"C-Cornhusks, ser." It was getting harder to hold down the lump in her throat the more she talked. Her eyes felt very hot. "A-And some of the girls s-said their ribbons are t-too old to use, so I used th-those ones for ties." She looked at the First enchanter desperately. "Th-They said I could have them! I _promise_."

It hadn't been hard at all to make the little cornhusk doll. The children all got daily chore duties, sometimes in the kitchen. Just the morning before, she'd been given the job of peeling corn for luncheon. It didn't seem the cook planned to do anything with the husks, merely have them taken out with the rest of the scraps, so she took a few. After dinner, she'd woven together a tiny doll that looked like a very lanky person with its arms held out wide, and made it colorful with a few frayed and tattered ribbons. She used one of her own ribbons to hang it from the ceiling of her bunk and had felt quite proud of her work at the time. In the morning, she took the doll down to carry it with her in her skirt pocket. Then, only a short time ago, after the children had all changed for sleep and she tried to hang it up again, the angry guard had appeared at her bedside out of nowhere. He'd torn the doll away from her, yelled at her, and roughly dragged her from the dormitory up to the second floor, to the first enchanter's office.

She didn't know how long they'd waited for the first enchanter and knight-commander to arrive, only that it had been terrible to be alone in the same room with the man who towered over her.

"What is it? Why did you make it?" The knight-commander asked, puzzled, looking not at her but at the little doll.

"She was tryin' ta secret some magic on it, Ser, like a charm," the guard answered grimly.

"I was not!" Callie looked at him with wide eyes. Her words slurred a little with how hard her lip trembled, and came out thickly around the lump in her throat. "I-It's a scarecrow!"

"A scarecrow?" the first enchanter asked curiously, encouraging her to say more. Callie nodded and sniffled, feeling very small and alone.

"E-Everyone says that demons c-come in our sleep, so I made the scarecrow to s-scare them away and keep me safe."

There was a long silence, but Callie couldn't see what was happening because she couldn't keep from crying anymore, and hot tears made the whole room blur around her. She hiccuped and bit her lip.

"Scare tha demons," the guard finally responded, skeptically. "More like invite them. I saw you talkin' ta this thing!"

Callie strained so hard to speak clearly that her voice came out almost in a squeak. "I w-was saying goodnight."

There was another long silence, one where she couldn't even hear anyone move, nothing but her own trembling breaths and hiccups that she tried to stifle. She wiped furiously at her eyes with her overlarge sleeves, but it didn't help when she wouldn't stop crying.

"Greagoir..." The way the first enchanter said that one word made it sound like it meant something significant.

"Maker's breath," the knight-commander sighed in a bone-weary way she'd never heard from him before or since. "She can keep the doll. Doyle, get her back to bed, then have Strat relieve you of duty and return to the barracks. _I will deal with you in the morning._ "

"Ah, knight-commander." The first enchanter's chair scraped against the ground. He must have gotten up. "If you don't mind, I will escort Serah Amell back to her dormitory myself."

"Of course. Yes." There was a pause and the clank of shifting armor. "Templar!" the knight-commander snapped.

Callie was still rubbing her eyes when she felt the brush of dry, veiny leaf edges on her elbow – the feet of her little scarecrow. She nervously lowered her arms and felt the doll shift, being pressed toward her hand through her damp sleeve. She gingerly clasped her fingers around him and, feeling no resistance, pulled him close and hugged him to her chest, tucking her shaking chin over him. The presence by her side moved and then was gone, and she listened to the heavy sound of his armor retreat from the room. The knight-commander soon followed, though he stopped by the door.

"I...am sorry, Irving." There was a pause. Then he was gone as well, and the door closed behind him with a _click_.

The first enchanter released a raspy sigh. Callie heard him step around the desk, his robes swishing in a way that was more pleasant than the armor the templars wore. She tensed and huddled closer around her scarecrow when he stopped in front of her chair and knelt down.

"I am sorry too, my dear," he murmured sadly, though what he had to be sad about, she didn't know. He gently laid a weathered hand, as wrinkled as his face, on her arm. "I know that was not fair of them."

He slowly wrapped her in a hug of his own, and for a moment she held her breath in fear, wondering if this would also bring her trouble. Then one of his hands rubbed her back, and the other stroked her hair, like her mama used to. Callie crumpled into his shoulder and sobbed. She sobbed for a long time and let him muffle her cries and got his robe terribly wet, but he didn't say a word. At some point she ran out of tears, her throat was too raw to keep whimpering, and all the tension had been exhausted from her little body. Only then did the first enchanter pull away. He pulled a handkerchief from one of his pockets and patted her puffy cheeks and eyes dry.

"There you are. Now, then, I believe you have had enough excitement for one night." He stood up and offered her a hand, which she took as she slid off the chair.

She stood patiently while he extinguished the candles in the tidy room. It looked like a small combination of the tower library and laboratory more than anything, filled with tall wooden bookshelves, stacks of papers, and tables full of strange objects and equipment she couldn't name. When he was done, leaving only one lantern to carry with them, he returned to her and again reached out a hand in offer. That was how he led her from his office, with her soft little fingers curled in his warm, veined ones, while her other hand clutched her scarecrow to her chest, and he didn't let go when they reached the corridor. She was glad of that, because she hated the corridors at night – how the flat, gray stonework looked somehow harder, and stretched up to a ceiling so high that it disappeared in pitch dark shadow. How the templars themselves looked like menacing statues at their posts, not real people.

If the first enchanter thought the same, he didn't seem scared at all. He simply walked with her, ignoring the guards stationed around them, and moved slowly enough that she didn't have to run to keep up like she had when the guard first took her upstairs. When they reached the first floor, however, he turned in the opposite direction of the children's dorm. Callie faltered in her step and looked up at him. He looked back at her, his beard prickling up around a smile.

"I think, this one time, it would not go amiss to take a detour to the kitchen, hm?" he whispered conspiratorially, his voice crackling around the words like dry paper. Callie just followed obediently and silently, not wanting to catch the attention of the templar statues standing at various doors.

When they reached the kitchen, he first led her to a table and brought her a cup of water that she eagerly drank down, then a second. It was strange to be in there without the fireplace sputtering sparks from its logs, a pot bubbling on the mount above them, the cook walking around and issuing orders while Tranquil and children chatted, chopped, kneaded, and mixed. Callie noticed that the first enchanter didn't have to search hard at all for a jar he took from one of the cupboards and a pot from the clean dishes; he must have known the kitchen well, though she never saw him in there. He filled the pot with milk, grabbed its sides near the bottom, and mumbled something under his breath. To Callie's astonishment, steam and the scent of warm cream started to rise from inside. She leaned forward with wide eyes for a better look, and his own crinkled in a smile.

"Magic need not always be grand," he revealed. "Sometimes, it is the finer touch that yields greater rewards. Speaking of which, you have earned one for being so good throughout that ordeal upstairs. Here we are, then."

He ladled hot milk into two mugs and dipped a spoon into the jar he'd brought out, dropping and stirring a dollop of honey into each cup. Callie gasped, because the cook always kept the honey carefully locked away where the children couldn't get to it. The first enchanter didn't share her unspoken concern, though he seemed to guess it easily. His chest rumbled with a chuckle.

"We'll keep this our little secret," he assured, patting her hand. She nodded solemnly and took her mug. The milk warmed her all through, and the texture of sweet cream lingered on her tongue with each mouthful. The enchanter sipped from his own mug as well, and for a time they sat comfortably together in the quiet. Eventually he lowered his mug back to the table with a sigh.

"Please try to understand, child, that the templars do mean well," he said suddenly. "We mages face many dangers, and present dangers to others. The templars take their duty to guard us very seriously...sometimes too seriously, as you saw. Because of that, it is important that we do all we can to show them they can trust us rather than fear us."

Callie didn't know how to respond. Even if she had known, she felt too tired to say anything. Being able to cry and getting a hug for the first time since she left home had been...good, but now the warmth of the milk was seeping into her bones and easing her muscles, making her feel the late hour and the strain of everything that had happened. So she simply nodded. That seemed to be enough.

"Come, now. Finish your milk. It is well past your bedtime, and there will be lessons in the morning. I'm sure your little friend will be welcome to attend if you wish him to. In fact..." He smiled again and stroked his beard in thought. "Hm. It should prove an interesting experiment, at any rate. I shall be most curious to know how he proves himself as a guard, if you wouldn't mind keeping me informed."

Callie nodded again, her eyes drooping, and quickly gulped down the rest of her milk. He placed the cups and pot aside, mumbling something to himself about coming back to wash them lest the cook find out. He once more held out his hand for her to take, and she did so, making sure to scoop her scarecrow from the table before hopping down to the floor. The walk back to the dorm was peaceful and short after that, though two templars had appeared on either side of the kitchen door to guard them, startling her. The first enchanter waited by the dormitory's door while she crept silently to her bed, for she had learned quickly after arriving how to keep her footfalls light on the hard stone floor to dampen any noise. Only when she climbed under her covers did his silhouette move away so the guard could close the door again, dousing the light from the corridor.

Callie didn't need light to find the ribbon hanging over her bunk, or to tie up her scarecrow so he could watch over her while she slept. Once he was secure, she pulled her blanket over her head and tried very hard not to think about what it felt like to be pulled out of bed. After a minute of fretful dozing, she felt something press against the side of her mattress. She didn't spook, because the movement was far too light and quiet to be from an adult. She merely moved over to make room so Jowan could clamber in next to her, and he promptly joined her in hiding under her blanket.

"I didn't realize you'd been gone so long," he whispered. "What happened?"

Callie opened her mouth to answer, then closed it again. At this point, she wasn't entirely sure herself what happened, or how to explain it. "He didn't like my scarecrow," was all she could think to say.

She felt Jowan nod against the pillow as though he understood perfectly. Maybe he did. He was a year older than her, and he'd been in the Circle longer than she had. He still remembered how scary it was and had quickly taken her under his wing after she arrived, making sure she was never alone with her fear. He always had something new to tell her about how things worked in the tower, and if she was ever uncertain whether something was against the rules or not, she knew she could go to him for an answer. He didn't say anything about her scarecrow when she showed it to him, though.

"They get like that sometimes," he explained. "Dumb templars. They're as scared as rabbits."

Callie hurriedly pushed a hand against his mouth and shushed him. One thing she knew from observation alone was that they were supposed to respect the templars at all times. Jowan shooed her hand off.

"Well, it's true." But he let the matter drop. "You know, one day, we're gonna be full mages, and then we'll get called out of the tower like they do whenever people need help. Then we'll help so many people with our magic that they won't be scared of us anymore."

"I think we'll have to help a _lot_ of people," Callie replied sleepily, feeling much more relaxed with a friend next to her.

"So we will. We'll go on big adventures that other people are too scared to go on, and we'll keep people safe with everything we can do. They'll see, then." There was so much conviction and excitement in his words that Callie had no trouble believing him. Then, because the hour was so late and their little selves were so worn out, the two children fell quiet and promptly drifted off to sleep, to await a new day in the Circle.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ For the most part, this story follows the telling of DA:O, though there will be some unique aspects and original content throughout. It is written in true NaNoWriMo style, leaving no detail untold, and will update weekly. Thank you for reading, and please feel free to leave a review letting me know what you think.


	2. Harrowing (The Door, The Tranquil)

**Chapter 2: Harrowing**

The Harrowing was meant to be a secret ritual to anyone who had not either gone through it already or stood as templar guard during the process. Yet there was more to it than that. All apprentices knew that the mages were forbidden from offering words of advice, but what they never taught directly, they conveyed more strongly through example: The Harrowing was a deeply personal experience. It was as easy to express to others as it was to lay bare all one's weaknesses before an audience of strangers.

Callie's eyes fluttered open to a bleary image of a room. Just as quickly she closed them again and tried to will the real world to resolve itself back into the Fade, just as it had the first time. Her fingers twitched, trying to find the texture and weight of a vanished staff. The familiar gray stone of the Circle's walls closed away the wide open sky she'd walked under like a bell jar. She hadn't been finished – she wasn't given even a moment to consider everything that happened – she never had a chance to say anything – she...

She was going to miss Mouse.

She didn't exactly miss the demon he turned out to be, and she didn't regret refusing him, but she already dearly missed the friend he had been. It was all a trick – she knew that. He had been using her the entire time – she understood and saw it now perfectly. That part didn't matter. There was the demon, and there was Mouse, and the realization that she would never see her friend again left her feeling more bereft than the loss of the first weapon she had ever earned the right to call her own, more than the loss of her first view of open sky in years.

 _"Allow me to welcome you to the Fade."_

That, more than anything, was something she understood keenly could never be shared with anyone, let alone the parts where she actively sought help from spirits and demons. She could already imagine it, trying to find the words to explain how she'd found rapport with a being who shamelessly tricked her for its own ends. Even in her thoughts, her attempts to reason through it fell flat, yet she couldn't convince herself it wasn't true. She sighed softly. The Fade was not a place of reason anyway. Perhaps she was a bit mad. Perhaps they were all mad there.

"Callie, are you alright? Say something, please..."

She turned her head to face the one sight in this real, harsh realm that _was_ welcome right now, rushing straight to her. The one person she could, if only in her own mind, call family. "Jowan?"

His black hair was a mess as usual and drooped over his ears, suggesting a missed trim. He didn't have an ideal, chiseled handsomeness, but he couldn't be called plain either, and there was a frankness in his expression that made him easily approachable. He smiled widely and his shoulders sagged with relief. "I'm glad you're alright. They carried you in this morning. I didn't even realize you'd been gone all night."

There was no way to tell the time of day without windows to let sunlight in. Glancing around, she could see piles of clothes still lying by people's bunks from the day before, with her own being one of the few that was neatly folded rather than tossed together in a lump. Some of the girls complained, mostly light-heartedly, about the messes they all left around just before laundry day. After the strange hues and impractical curves she'd seen in the Fade, all Callie could think was that at least the purple bed sheets and mounded dirty robes added spots of color and shape to the tower's pale masonry.

She slowly sat up in bed and swung her legs over the side, noting that she was still fully dressed and her eyes felt quite puffy, as though she'd overslept a great deal. She'd worn her best day robe to the test, too, the only one with no fraying hems, the color hardly faded from its deep blue and purple. Now, she saw ruefully, it was twisted around her and horribly wrinkled. Kicking back her heel revealed her shoes under her bed, though she didn't much want to think about who might have removed them for her.

Jowan lowered his voice to avoid being overheard by the other girls wandering the room, who were either taking breaks from studying or retrieving belongings. "I've heard about apprentices who never come back from Harrowings. Is it really that dangerous? What was it like?"

She tried not to grimace. Of course he wanted to get right into it. She looked up at Jowan, who looked back at her with open curiosity, and she felt gripped by uncertainty.

They were best friends. It was only natural that he'd ask after something they spent endless days speculating about in hushed tones together, but this wasn't just a question between friends anymore. It was a question from an apprentice to a mage, and the faces of both the first enchanter and knight-commander, staring straight into hers with undivided attention, loomed in Callie's memory. The first rule of the Harrowing was that no one talked about the Harrowing, and she would now be held accountable for that. She was, as she had not been a day ago, liable for the things she said, and that made her hesitate.

"Oh, Jowan," she sighed. "It was...harrowing." It was poor humor, the best she could think of on a moment's notice, but the sincerely serious furrow in her friend's brow made it surprisingly better.

"Is that why they don't tell us what it's about?" he asked. He sat down next to her, gesturing nervously, and suddenly it wasn't funny anymore. "I know I'm not supposed to know...but we're friends! Just a little hint, and I'll stop asking, I promise!"

His anxiety struck her. Callie felt herself standing in front of the first enchanter again, silently begging him to say just a little more about what she was about to go through, why there were so many templars around them, and why they were looking at her like they were marching her toward her execution.

She gripped the edge of her bed and her voice seized in her throat. The look on Jowan's face, like she held the answers that could save his life, made her want to run. The walls around them, the bell jar separating her from the sky, suddenly felt far too close. Was there a way to petition for a demotion back to apprentice? Was there a way to turn back time and go back to being the little girl who looked to Jowan for all the answers, not the other way around?

It dawned on her that she didn't want to be a mage, not if this was what it meant. No one ever told them that to become mages, they'd have to walk blindly into a trap, one filled with informed enemies at one end and merciless blades at the other. A terrible image shaped itself in her mind: The day Jowan was called for his test, she would be expected to stand helplessly by and watch him happily walk into the same trap.

 _"It's always the same. But it's not your fault. You're in the same boat I was, aren't you?"_

"I had to enter the Fade," she heard herself say, after which her jaw clicked shut. If anyone found out he knew...

"Really? That's it?" he asked, looking perplexed, as if entering the Fade were as easy as settling down for an afternoon nap. And that was what they all thought, wasn't it? That was what they were taught – _raised_ – to believe: that the Fade was something visited in dreams, something they did every night without problem. Something they had been reassured over and over again that they could experience safely due to their studies, as long as they stayed in the tower and maintained discipline.

 _"They don't want you prepared. If you can resist it when forced like this, you can do it anytime."_

The reasoning behind the secrecy of the Harrowing was sound, she had to admit. Callie understood the spirit of the rule as it was meant, but something about it troubled her all the same. How had Mouse put it?

 _"Thrown to the mercy of a demon when you're at your weakest. 'For the safety of all.'"_

That was it. They were set up to fail. It was good intentions planted on a weak foundation, one where apprentices were presumed guilty and had to prove their innocence against a crime no one would define for them. No, worse! A crime they were deliberately told they would not have to worry about committing as long as they followed orders. Valor was right. The Harrowing was a cowardly test. Even Mouse found it distasteful, and what stronger sign was there of a broken system than when both predator and prey commiserated about their situation?

Resentment smoldered in her chest, urging Callie toward defiance. "And if you get possessed, they kill you."

If she expected a shocked or appalled reaction, all she got was a simple nod of understanding. She might as well have told Jowan they were having porridge for breakfast. Her grip on the bed tightened.

"That makes sense. They want to see if you can resist a demon and stop yourself from becoming an abomination." Now he looked dismayed. "And now you get to move to the mages' quarters upstairs. I hope I get there someday."

Callie didn't understand, and her stomach twisted in uncomfortable knots. _Forget the blighted mages' quarters_ , she wanted to scream! The walls and floor would still be gray and flat. She'd still hear templar footsteps stalking up and down the echoing corridors at night. There would still be either no windows at all or windows set too high to look through, where she'd get only the faintest glimpses of bright blue or of twinkling stars trying to peer back in at her.

The worst part was that she'd wondered just yesterday what her new room might be like if she passed her test. Now, with images in her head of rolling hills falling sharply away, of twisted trees and arched rock formations stretching up with no ceiling to stop them, she saw as though for the first time how much everything in the tower looked the same. With the memory of a stranger telling her things no one else ever had, confiding in her about people and a place that had been her entire life for as long as she could remember, she saw for the first time how little she actually knew about the Circle.

"Don't worry so much about it," she said quietly, wishing Jowan would drop the matter. He got up and paced restlessly in front of her.

"Easy for you to say. I've been here longer than you have." He sounded frustrated, and she felt a twinge of guilt. Everyone had been so happy for her when her Harrowing was announced. "Sometimes I think they just don't want to test me."

That got Callie's attention. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped in place and looked at her. "The Tranquil never go through a Harrowing. You do the Harrowing, the Rite of Tranquility...or you die. That's what happens."

Her eyes widened. "They're not going to kill you, Jowan," she assured almost breathlessly, unwilling to even think such a thing. If he was a little behind her in some of his studies, he was nowhere close to being the worst student in the Circle. The first enchanter had no reason to deny him his Harrowing. But then, even if he took it...

 _"The templars kill you if you take too long, you see. They figure you failed, and they don't want something getting out."_

For a moment, she couldn't quite breathe. She tried very hard not to look at the walls.

"They might not. But the Rite of Tranquility is just as bad...maybe worse. You've seen Tranquil around the tower, like Owain, who runs the stock room." He frowned deeply, his hands clenching at his sides. Callie hadn't known Owain well; he was several years their senior and always preferred to spend more time with the boys than the girls. But she knew he'd been Jowan's friend, and that he'd undergone the rite only a few months ago. "He's so cold. No, not even cold. There's just...nothing in him. It's like he's dead but still walking. His voice, his eyes are lifeless..."

He looked so haunted. Why had he never said anything about this before? Why had she never noticed, never asked? They all knew that the Tranquil in the tower were mages who'd been cut off from the Fade, severed from their magic, their dreams...and their emotions. In some ways, they were more frightening than templars. At least with the templars, you always knew exactly what they thought of you and where you stood with them. The Tranquil were...as hollow as scarecrows.

"How awful," she breathed.

"Apprentices can ask to be made Tranquil if they fear the Harrowing," Jowan continued. Callie nodded. She recalled how she'd been asked, after the announcement of her test, if she was ready to face it or if she would prefer to explore _other options_. "But the Circle also forces Tranquility on those they feel are weak. And sometimes they force it on apprentices they think might be too...dangerous as mages."

He should have known that she knew all these things, but he seemed lost in his rambling now, like he was talking more to himself than to her. A sense of warning prickled her mind.

"Jowan, just because they're taking their time to announce your test-"

"No, nevermind. I shouldn't waste your time with this." He shook his head, and his gaze refocused on the present. "I was supposed to tell you to see Irving as soon as you woke up."

Callie opened her mouth to say something more, then sighed. He clearly didn't want to continue the discussion, and it would be no use trying to force him. "What for?" she asked instead.

"He didn't tell me. About the Harrowing, I'd guess, but you never know with Irving. You'd better not keep him waiting. We can speak later."

"Yeah. Sure." She watched him walk out of the women's dorm and hoped his worries would ease soon. The Harrowing was supposed to be enough of a worry without compounded fears of even worse alternatives.

"Did you hear anything? Is she alright? Is she awake?" Her ears perked in the direction of not-quite-hushed words from the corner of the room. It sounded like Lisandra.

"Why do you care?" returned a sardonic voice. "Are you best friends now?" Ah, Arielle. In a place as small as the tower, no one really had any choice but to find ways to get along with each other. Still, some people got along better than others.

"I'm just curious! That templar, Cullen, said it was the quickest, cleanest Harrowing he'd ever seen! He says she's very talented and very brave."

"Well, he would, wouldn't he?" Callie drew herself in self-consciously, then more so when she realized that Cullen must have helped bring her back to the dorm while she was unconscious. His doe-eyed glances were no secret to anyone, but they usually had the grace not to say anything about it.

"I just know I'll be terrified when my time comes. Like Wendell was. He threw up every day for the next week just thinking about it..."

Callie didn't listen further. She stood and headed for the bathing room and the vanities therein, determined to at least wash her face, clean her teeth, and straighten her hair before seeing the first enchanter. While she was busy tying her dark curls over one shoulder, though, she looked longingly at the partitions which granted the bathtubs some privacy. Sleeping in her layered day robes left her feeling horribly rumpled. If only she didn't have to rush, she would have loved a soak, even a cold one.

...Why did she have to rush, anyway? Callie hadn't questioned the order at first; everyone always listened to the first enchanter. But he should have understood that she _just woke up_ , after her _Harrowing_ no less. She hadn't even eaten since luncheon the day before, having skipped dinner before the test on his recommendation. She should at least be granted enough time now for a bath and a meal before having to jump to attention like a templar.

She frowned. Even if she thought so, it wouldn't do to keep him waiting so long. She'd refrain from eating until afterwards...but she _would_ give herself the luxury of washing up. If it wasn't a full bath, she still managed to sponge herself down with cool water and rinse the night away. She didn't dally in the tub, but she didn't hurry herself either, and she used the time while the air dried her off to straighten her robe.

From one of the skirt pockets, she pulled out her little scarecrow, and she was glad to see he'd made it through her Harrowing as unscathed as she had. She should have been too old for dolls, and to be sure, she didn't let anyone know about him anymore. But he was one of her only two faithful companions in the world, and she could never bring herself to give him up. For many years, she'd even taken to secretly calling him Little Jowan, the best example she could dream of for the kind of friend who would look out for her. Really, considering what the Harrowing ended up being, it almost seemed portentous that she'd brought her little guard along. Maybe he truly had helped her safely through it.

He'd changed over time, as she supposed she'd changed all the way from child to mage. Inevitably his woven husks always became brittle and snapped, though she usually managed to hold him up well with his colorful ribbon "clothing." The first time she couldn't, she'd taken him sadly to the first enchanter, because the thought of making a new scarecrow had felt like giving up the old one for a stranger. _"Ah, my child,"_ he'd said kindly, plucking away some of the doll's loose fibers. _"Everyone changes with time. What's important is that we carry with us the experiences which will help shape a stronger future. Make a new body for your friend and tuck these into his heart, so he will never forget the scarecrow he was before."_

Callie smiled at the memory, running a gentle finger down her scarecrow's lanky arm. She'd lost count of how many bodies she'd given him over the years, but the little girl inside her delighted with the knowledge that no matter his shape, he was still her dear friend.

Could she say the same for Mouse? Scarecrow had no mouth for lying, while Mouse had been a masterful liar indeed. And yet the best lies were the ones filled with as much truth as possible, so much that they very nearly _were_ the truth, if you just looked at them a different way.

 _"It isn't right that they do this, the templars. Not to you, me, anyone."_

Callie donned her robe again and fetched her soft leather boots from under her bed. Her desire to linger in the dorm quickly turned into impatience to leave, because she could barely take a few steps without someone coming up to her with a beaming smile, congratulating her on her Harrowing. Her stomach twisted each time she made herself smile back and thank them politely, because the awe and excitement on their faces made her want to scream that it was no accomplishment.

"I'm terrible at spells," Mava said wistfully. "You're lucky you're so talented."

"It's practice more than anything," Callie told her. "And aren't we lucky? There's nothing for us to do here but practice."

"I heard you completed your Harrowing in record time!" Gavin, one of her tutors, praised.

"Ah...yes. I heard that too." Callie studied him while he chuckled, searching his face for any hint of empathy, any sign of unspoken understanding. He went back to his book without quite meeting her eyes again, and she saw nothing. Did the Harrowing fade from memory after enough years, like a dream? Or after so many years, did mages manage to convince themselves it had been a respectable business?

"Jowan's been acting weird all day. Have you seen him?" Alarion, another apprentice, asked her.

Callie blinked in surprise. "Um, yes. I talked to him earlier. I'm not sure where he is now, though." He thanked her and continued on his way. She watched him go and tried to ignore the concern she felt.

She had to go to the front of the tower to reach the stairs, but she stopped by the door to the entrance hall when voices filtered out from inside.

"Will there be another Harrowing tonight?" It must have been the templars guarding the Door. Their helmets always made them sound oddly tinny.

"Don't know. Greagoir hasn't said anything. And _shh!_ We're on duty."

"There's no one here."

"Someone's always watching. I swear it's like the walls have eyes." Callie smiled sourly. The templars had no right to say that about anyone else. The eyes were theirs.

"Hey, did you hear about that apprentice they're going to send for–"

"Shh!"

An apprentice? He'd already asked about a Harrowing; what else would an apprentice be summoned for? In any case, no answer was forthcoming, so Callie advanced into the hall. It wasn't a large space and was left fairly plain to discourage people from lingering, which would have made the templars nervous. Only a few stands on the side of the room displayed trinkets which had been gifted to the Circle over time. As she'd thought, the only people present were the two guards flanking the Door. She'd seen it and them – or other guards just like them – almost every day on her way to and from lessons. Today, something about the sight of that Door made her feet root themselves to the ground under her.

She didn't realize she was staring until one of the guards cleared his throat. "Yes, is there something you need?" It was the one with all the questions. When he spoke to the other guard, he'd sounded attentive and curious. Now he sounded uninterested, as though putting in the effort to talk to her was a great bother. She didn't bat an eye; the templars were always like that. But if she had his attention...

Callie couldn't seem to take her eyes off the Door. Tentatively, she turned away from the stairs and went closer, eyeing it as though she'd be able to read something in the dark wood grain.

"What's out there?" she couldn't help but ask.

There was a short pause. Maybe she'd surprised him. "Ferelden. It's not very interesting. Mostly farms. The occasional river."

Not very interesting? To him, maybe. Callie remembered the lake and the hills surrounding it from years ago, before Anders put an end to their weekly outdoor exercise sessions by escaping across the water. Those hills had always seemed to her to be as distant and untouchable as the Black City in the Fade's sky, and Anders something like a legendary hero for reaching them. Other than that, she had only a vague, distant memory of tall green leaves that danced and rustled in the wind above her, with an endless stretch of blue beyond. No such green things grew on the tower's rocky island, so Callie always thought she must have come from a farm, though she couldn't say for sure. What must it be like to be surrounded by a veil of green, to have an entire country to roam and live on...

"Can I leave the tower?" The words were out of her mouth before she realized what she was asking. At once, she felt quite silly and wished she could take them back.

"No, you may not," the guard intoned dismissively, utterly bored with her. "I am surprised you ask. I would have thought you'd be used to this idea by now."

Callie wanted to agree with him. What had gotten into her? In all her times passing by this same place, the thought never grabbed her as it had now. Keeping them in was the whole reason mages were brought to the Circle in the first place; there was no use pretending or yearning otherwise.

 _"I'll follow, if that's alright. My chance was long ago, but you...you may have a way out."_

Then she felt a spark of indignation, fueling the same sense of defiance that made her tell Jowan about the Harrowing, that made her ignore instructions to see the first enchanter immediately.

"Why can't I leave? I've passed my Harrowing." She was almost taken aback by the boldness in her tone, but she didn't let her gaze waver from the gleaming eyes she could just see inside that iron helmet.

"Only mages on official Circle business are allowed to leave the tower, and the first enchanter has not informed us of any mages leaving the tower today." The guard wasn't impressed at all, and that only made the spark Callie felt glow hotter.

"I should get going," she said stiffly, though she knew he wouldn't care. She was already striding back to the staircase when she heard his unenthusiastic farewell behind her.

"Maker smile fortune on you."

This strange restlessness didn't sit well with her. As she climbed the stairs, she tried to give herself a firm mental shake, telling herself to get a grip. It was all just an aftereffect of the Harrowing, she was sure. In any case, just because she didn't like or agree with the test itself, that was no reason to start going off on everything else in the tower. Up until today, she'd been content. More or less. She needed to find a way back to that.

When she reached the second floor landing, her feet stopped again. She stared down at them, telling herself not to look across at the stockroom. She had delayed seeing the first enchanter enough, and if word reached him that she was awake, he'd surely be wondering where she was. All she needed to do was put one foot in front of the other until she reached the corridor. As soon as she took the first step, her head lifted, and she saw Owain standing by the stockroom door.

He was fairly average as far as looks went, neither thin nor thick, with full cheeks and a receding hairline shaved very close to his scalp. His stillness at his post was so perfect that his discipline could have made the templars jealous. As people walked past, his eyes followed them only long enough to determine if they were coming in his direction or not. Then he stared vacantly into the air in front of him until the next person came near. Callie drew in a shuddering breath. All she had to do was walk away, and he would ignore her too.

She looked past him into the stockroom, the wildest place she'd ever seen up close beyond her indistinct memory of greenness. Inside, she knew, were all sorts of colorful, oddly shaped items, from dried herbs either tied up in bundles or ground into powder, to raw lumps and refined rods of stone and metal, to lyrium powder and charms covered in glyphs. The herbs always fascinated her most; since childhood, she'd devoured books in the library about trees and herbs, mushrooms, flowers – marveling at the idea that simple plants could produce such varied and lovely and useful things. From there she'd studied soil, rock formations, and how the earth shaped itself to support life, wanting to know why nothing more than small ferns would grow on the island. Visiting the stockroom became something of a treat.

Reluctantly, with a feeling she was pushing her bounds a little too far, Callie walked up to Owain.

"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items," he greeted placidly. "My name is Owain. How may I assist you?"

Callie gave a small, hesitant smile. "Is that how you greet everyone?" She meant it as a light joke, but she sounded timid.

"Do you find my greeting disagreeable? I apologize, but I am not inclined to change it. Do you need something?"

"Oh!" she started. "I didn't mean to suggest you should change it. I just...was...wondering." He didn't respond. She cleared her throat. "Actually, what I wanted to ask was...are you really a Tranquil mage?"

"I voluntarily submitted to the Rite of Tranquility. I was unwilling to undergo the Harrowing. I find this state agreeable." Agreeable sounded oddly ambivalent, but then that was the point, wasn't it? Callie pursed her mouth, looking at every dip and line of his face. She remembered a man who was very expressive, but now he displayed such an economy of action that it left him only slightly more animated than a nutcracker doll.

"What is it like?" she asked.

"I see the world with clarity. I remember the days when my mind was filled with inconvenient and seething emotions. Now things are simple."

The complete lack of inflection in his voice made her want to squirm. She didn't know what to say. If he was...content, that should have been enough. It should have been good. So why did it feel disturbing to talk to him like this? "But you don't care. About anything."

"I care about performing my duties to the best of my ability. Other matters would only serve as a distraction from that goal."

That...bothered her. She knew for a fact that if a templar walked up to him and declared his duties were to change immediately, he wouldn't hesitate in the least to change with them. She'd seen it, the day the Tranquil who previously ran the stockroom began dusting shelves while Owain stood in her place. Like they were interchangeable. Callie searched his gaze, which held not coldness but rather the stillness of apathy. It was easy to imagine that gaze growing vacant again as soon as she was gone – out of sight, out of mind. Was his entire mind so rooted to the present, stuck in place like an island in an empty sea?

 _"They can't be possessed. As if that is worse than losing yourself. You don't want to lose yourself here. Being nothing would be easier than this."_

 _Nothing._ "It's like you're not even a person," she whispered. She hadn't meant for him to hear, but evidently he did.

"My body is similar in form to yours, possessing an equal number of limbs, appendages, and internal organs. I perform the same physical functions. My mind is capable of higher thought processes. Am I to be denied personhood because I do not feel as you do?"

Callie opened her mouth, closed it again, and repeated the process. Her hand moved over her skirt pocket, brushing over the shape of her scarecrow.

"A person is more than just physical parts," she contended.

"I have thoughts and memories. I remember my past, my childhood in the tower, and my apprenticeship. These experiences defined me. My lack of emotions simply adds to what is already there."

 _"Ah, my child. Everyone changes with time."_

But it didn't feel right. He talked about his memories, but how did he measure their substance? The only experiences by which he defined himself were in the past, and now his lack of emotion was a perpetual present. That wasn't change – it was stagnation. His memories weren't even his first concern; he portrayed himself first as a collection of parts, like a doll someone had stitched together. Like...like how the demons had seen her.

 _"At last, I shall see the land of the living with your eyes, creature. You shall be mine, body and soul."_

 _"You are a smart one."_

Callie ducked her head. She thought she was beginning to understand, and wished she didn't. She wished she'd kept her distance and left the Tranquil to their work, like everyone was always encouraged to. Owain was a vessel for others to fill and drain, soft clay that would remain forever pliant and never solidify into a shape of its own, never change with time. He had his brain, but no heart. She preferred the little scarecrow in her pocket to the one standing in front of her. Yet how did he come to care so much about the matter?

She didn't want to keep thinking about this.

"My statement was rude," she stammered. "I apologize." That was true enough. Right or wrong was no justification for behaving obtusely.

"I do not have the capacity to be offended. Still, I believe I am a person."

She nodded and glanced back up at him, unhappily remembering Jowan's worries. "What was...what was becoming Tranquil like?"

"It is difficult to describe. I would perhaps compare it to being plunged into a pool of ice-cold water."

She bit her lip. "What happens during the Rite of Tranquility?"

"I was ordered to never speak of it. I cannot go against the Circle's wishes."

Callie frowned. Was it a secret the same way the Harrowing was a secret? Secret things in the Circle didn't have a good track record. "Thank you, Owain. I, um, don't need anything right now."

"Very well."

She turned to go, unsure whether she was satisfied or not for having given in to her curiosity. She felt no less disquieted. After a few steps, she turned back.

"Owain." She struggled to find words for a moment. "You do remember me, don't you?"

"Of course, Callie. We have known each other for many years, if not well."

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ The next chapter will update in a week's time. Thank you for reading, and please let me know what you think of the story so far.


	3. Shifts (The Templar)

**Chapter 3: Shifts**

Her retreat from the stockroom – from Owain – to the corridor was quick, and she no longer had any intention of stopping until she reached the first enchanter's office. Callie took a few steadying breaths, blinking away the sight of tall, curving walls in her peripheral vision. She had to settle herself; she couldn't talk to the first enchanter while in turmoil like this. Maybe he'd be able to help, though, if this kind of anxiety was common for the newly Harrowed. There was no harm in asking him–

"Oh, um, h-hello." Callie looked up and stopped dead in her tracks, meeting a doe-eyed gaze. Cullen cleared his throat and adjusted the helmet under his arm. "I...uh, am glad to see your Harrowing went smoothly."

He looked immaculate as usual, with a handsome shadow of stubble and his golden hair combed back. Certainly, many girls in the tower wished for someone with such strong, sharp features to turn his soft blue eyes on them. Some were sensible, like Callie, and only dreamed of the flattery of attention without any real envy. Most were not so sensible and would have happily caused a scandal to destroy the both of them, were they in her place. In that way, perhaps he was lucky she was the one who'd caught his attention.

Maker's breath. She couldn't even pretend she hadn't heard or seen him now. What was worse, he looked how she felt, antsy and off balance, and it tugged at her compassion. His reasons for feeling as such were very different from hers, but as much as she wanted to march directly away without a word, she couldn't bring herself to be so unkind. A templar saw a woman and discovered that he himself was a man. That was no fault of his, and his humanity deserved tenderness.

"Hello, Cullen," she greeted, forcing herself to calm down. As she studied him, it became apparent that he was more anxious than usual. The way his eyes kept shifting to and away from her seemed strained rather than just shy. Her brow furrowed in gentle concern, and that was all the prompting he needed to share his thoughts. They weren't nearly what she expected.

"Th-They picked me as the templar to strike the killing blow if...if you became an abomination," he said, sounding awfully contrite. "It's nothing personal – I swear! I...uh, I'm just glad you're alright. You know."

... _Did_ she know? Callie stood quietly, as still as a Tranquil, processing his words. Each one moved slowly through her mind and touched her veins like frost.

Surely she had heard him wrong. She stared into his eyes, which were still shifting to and fro with anxiety and guilt. Surely he had not just told her that, had she died – at his hands – it wouldn't have been anything personal. They were not really friends, despite his infatuation and her kindness. She didn't delude herself about that. But surely – surely, she – her life – counted for more than "nothing personal."

She twitched a thin smile onto her face and forced herself to sound light rather than horrified. Her eyes still bore into his. "Would you really have struck me down?"

It didn't take a blood mage to read his mind and see that he wished she hadn't asked that question. "I would've felt terrible about it...but, um...but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded." He spoke quietly, but his words were marked with a sense of resigned finality. Commitment, no matter how reluctant.

 _"They'd kill every mage if they could. All the templars see in magic is danger."_

For a second time that day, Callie found it difficult to breathe. This – this wasn't right. Nothing – none of it was right! Betrayal and a horrible sense of isolation dropped in her stomach like a shattering plate. However, with an irony that was almost hilarious to her, it didn't feel personal. Not against Cullen, anyway. It wasn't like she thought this man truly loved her, not when they really didn't know each other at all. It was just that after spending her entire life almost believing she deserved the disdainful tolerance that the templars – that the world granted mages, he was the one scarecrow who had looked past her magic and saw something good. In _her_.

How could he say these things and mean them? If he cared at all for whatever goodness he saw in her person, how could he be so ready to extinguish it on an _order?_

Cullen looked terribly unhappy, and something about that left a bitter taste on her tongue. In an instant, Callie's thoughts turned to calculations. There was no one in the tower, mage or templar, who didn't know about the hidden places mages often crept to together, seeking gentler comforts. Given how closely he watched her, Cullen surely noticed sometimes when she herself sought privacy with another. She had already charmed him. Now she wondered if she could tempt him. It might take time and patience to coax him into the shadows with her, to make his need stronger than his loyalty to his cause.

He was willing to plunge a sword into her heart for the sake of duty. Would it really be so wrong of her to take advantage of his affections for the sake of survival? She understood necessity.

"Well..." Callie took a step back. Some tendril of delirium unfolded in her and helped her smile widely. "I shouldn't distract you from your duties."

Cullen started. "Oh, you're not distracting. I mean, you are, but...well, you're not. I mean," he quirked a bashful smile, "You can talk to me anytime if you want. Uh...uh, yes. Maybe we can talk another time." He looked down absentmindedly, still wearing that moony smile.

She walked away from him slowly, as though afraid he'd chase her down otherwise. Like a predator. She felt his presence behind her acutely and kept her eyes on the floor, burning a hole through the gray stone so intensely that the walls in her peripherals disappeared in a haze of white. She slipped one shaking hand into her skirt pocket and clutched her little scarecrow.

Only when she knew she had turned the curve enough to disappear from his sight did she sag against the wall and draw a shuddering breath. Her anger and fear, having nearly overflowed, now drained away from her and left only the feeling of isolation like a hollow pit. It was a harsh lesson to learn, that the most safety and consideration she could ever hope to receive in this world was as much as she had been given last night, unconscious, with Cullen holding a sword over her.

This was her life. How had she never seen it before?

 _"The Circle is a prison. You have choices...between joining and suffering various deaths of body or spirit. Remember that."_

The door on the wall opposite her swung open, making Callie jump. With a reflex born from a lifetime of trying to convince people that she wasn't a threat, she wiped any trace of expression from her face and straightened attentively. The unfamiliar mage who emerged, probably a researcher who didn't teach apprentices, looked at her and smiled like he'd been expecting her.

"Ah, there you are. Come, come." He waved her forward, and Callie blinked back at him. Then, because she had no real reason not to, she let him lead her into what she knew to be one of the mages' bedroom wings.

He led her to a room down a narrower hallway and opened the door for her. The inside was furnished with everything the dormitories downstairs had: a bed with a heavy storage chest in front of it, a desk, an armoire, and a partitioned corner with all the necessary toiletries, including a full bathtub. The only differences were that the bed was larger, without a bunk above it, there was an entire empty bookshelf standing in one corner, a small fireplace in another corner, and everything in the room was meant for a single person.

"You are to be moved out of the apprentices' dormitory, and these are to be your new quarters. The Tranquil will move your belongings this afternoon. Go on. Make yourself comfortable." The enchanter ushered her inside with an eager smile, clearly awaiting her reaction.

Callie paced into the center of the room, turned a few times to look at everything, and finally looked back at her escort uncomprehendingly. "It's...so much."

He chuckled and nodded knowingly. "You think so now. Just wait until you get to be a senior enchanter, young lady."

She thanked him and he left to attend to other duties, closing the door behind him. She went after him and touched the door, laying her palm flat against it as though to test its solidity. She was alone. Craning her head up, she could see that the rooms weren't truly separate from each other, more like large stone cubicles. The walls cut off after about ten feet, leaving their "ceilings" open to the hall. But as long as she stayed quiet, she was alone. She had privacy.

She needed to go see the first enchanter.

Callie went silently to the bed – her bed – and gingerly sat on the edge. She needed a moment to just sit and breathe. She looked around again. Maybe this would feel more like a place she could call hers once her things were in it. The walls were...very close.

She took only a minute to gather her composure, after which she emerged from the room and closed the door behind her, as softly as if she were trying to respect someone else's quarters and not her own. She exited the mages' wing, intent on refusing any further attempts to capture her attention, though she needn't have worried. Not a single soul more was to be found in the main corridor on her way to the first enchanter's office. Except, of course, for the templars stationed all around.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Probably the shortest chapter that will appear in this story. Will update next week.


	4. The Grey Warden (The Initiate)

**Chapter 4: The Grey Warden**

The door to the first enchanter's office was open. Callie heard raised voices inside before she even reached it.

"Many have already gone to Ostagar," the knight-commander growled. "Wynne, Uldred, and most of the senior mages! We've committed enough of our own to this war effort–"

"Your own?" the first enchanter interrupted, sounding amused. "Since when have you felt such kinship with the mages, Greagoir? Or are you afraid to let the mages out from under Chantry supervision, where they can actually use their Maker-given powers?" Only he would ever dare talk to the knight-commander that way.

"How _dare_ you suggest–"

"Gentlemen, please. Irving, someone is here to see you."

Callie froze in the doorway when three sets of eyes turned on her. She couldn't tell if she was early and the first enchanter hadn't expected her up so soon, or if she was so late in coming to see him that he now had other matters to attend to. She didn't even recognize the third man in the room, though from his strange armor, he must have been a guest from the outside. His strong bearing reminded her of the templars, but there was also a sense of ease in how he carried himself which they never displayed. Not to mention templars would never have been allowed to sport beards or hair long enough to tie back; it would have fared terribly under a helmet.

All three men seemed to be waiting on her.

"First Enchanter?" she deferred unsurely, looking to her elder for direction.

"Ah, if it isn't our new sister in the Circle." He smiled warmly and lifted his arms toward her, as though to share his cheer with the room. The years had made all his hair gray, his voice more gravelly, and lined his sunken eyes with ever more wrinkles, but he never stopped looking kind. "Come, child." At his invitation, she entered.

The dark stranger, dusky with a Rivaini complexion like her own, stepped in line with the first enchanter and watched her as curiously as she watched him. "This is...?"

"Yes," the first enchanter answered proudly. "This is she."

The knight-commander was not so eager to share felicitations with the newest mage under his watch. "Well, Irving, you're obviously busy. We will discuss this later."

He did nod to her in acknowledgement as he passed by, a gesture Callie returned. Like her own superior, his hair had grayed with age and his face had gathered a few more lines, but he'd never lost that stern stoniness which kept his features sharp.

"Of course," the first enchanter dismissed him. "Well then...where was I? Oh, yes. Callie, this is Duncan, of the Grey Wardens."

Callie studied the stranger anew with surprise. A Grey Warden in the tower? Just how much had happened while she was asleep? Beholden to neither Chantry nor king, servant guardian to the whole world, a Grey Warden was an esteemed guest to have indeed. Perhaps not everyone thought so. What she knew about politics in Ferelden suggested that most of the country didn't care for Wardens anymore, despite ending their exile. She herself always found their commitment to protecting others admirable and their strange organization of assorted heroes fascinating. The first enchanter had always agreed with her, teaching that while they might no longer be appreciated, the world owed much to the Wardens. None had ever visited the Circle in as long as she could remember, which begged the question why one was here now.

"Pleased to meet you," she said with a polite dip of her head.

"You've heard about the war brewing to the south, I expect?" the first enchanter asked, and Callie nodded in answer. The apprentices didn't get much news about the goings-on of the outside world, but something as large as a war managed to filter its way down even to them. "Duncan is recruiting mages to join the king's army at Ostagar."

Callie didn't respond right away. Then she saw they were waiting for her to do so, though she didn't understand why. Had rising from apprentice to mage granted her access to these kinds of discussions, of affairs that actually extended beyond the tower? The idea of a war seemed as distant to her as farms and rivers. She suddenly felt very young, but the men were waiting for her input.

"Who are we fighting?" she ventured. She'd almost said _you_ instead of _we_ and had to remind herself that, technically, she was also considered a citizen of Ferelden.

"The darkspawn threat grows in the south," Duncan said gravely. "We need all the help we can get."

Help? Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

"The power you mages wield is an asset to any army. Your spells are very effective against large groups of mindless darkspawn. I fear if we don't drive them back, we may see another Blight."

Callie wasn't sure whether to feel complimented or insulted, having her magic praised on the merit that it was useful against mindless things. She understood now, however. It was the duty of Grey Wardens to guard against the devastation the darkspawn caused, and the king of Ferelden was joining their effort. Well, if Duncan was here to gather mages for the fight, he had his pick of many capable enchanters, including the ones the knight-commander mentioned leaving for Ostagar. How large could a war be, that it needed more mages than had already gone?

"Duncan, you worry the poor girl with talk of Blights and darkspawn," the first enchanter admonished. "This is a happy day for her."

Callie almost frowned, but she managed to school her expression into something neutral. Duncan was the first person she'd met today who sparked her curiosity in a way that didn't make her want to run. He was the first person she'd ever met who talked so freely about the outside world. And, as the first enchanter reminded her, today had proven to be anything but happy.

"We live in troubled times, my friend," Duncan reasoned.

"We should seize moments of levity, _especially_ in troubled times." The first enchanter turned back to her. "Your Harrowing is behind you. Your phylactery was sent to Denerim. You are officially a mage within the Circle of Magi."

Her neutral expression almost cracked. "My...phylactery?"

He nodded, thankfully taking her question as one of ignorance and not the anxiety it truly was. "You may not remember, but blood was taken from you when you first came to us. This blood is preserved within a phylactery."

Of course she remembered. All apprentices were well aware of the leash the templars kept on them, just in case the confinement they already endured ended up not being enough. Now they countered her rise in rank by sequestering her phylactery even farther out of her reach, reducing the already negligible amount of control she had over her own life.

"So they can be hunted if they turn apostate," Duncan finished her thoughts, and she was stunned by the frank disapproval in his tone.

"We have few choices," the first enchanter replied with only some regret. "The gift of magic is looked upon with suspicion and fear. We must prove we are strong enough to handle our power responsibly. _You_ have done this."

 _No I haven't! If I had, they'd trust me more, not less!_ Callie once more gave in to reflex, standing straight and still. She watched the first enchanter with nothing more or less than attentiveness while he went to his desk and picked up a bundle and a staff, which he brought to her.

"I present you with your robes, your staff, and a ring bearing the Circle's insignia. Wear them proudly, for you have earned them."

He was so happy. She plastered a smile on her face and studied the items he handed to her. The metal ring was cold against her skin. The wooden staff had a soft leather strap attached, so she could sling it across her shoulder when not in use. All she could think was that Valor's staff was the one she had truly earned, and she would rather have that one than this shiny present. But the warmth in the first enchanter's eyes...

"Thank you, ser," she said quietly. And like that, it was back to business.

"It goes without saying that you shall not discuss the Harrowing with those who have not undergone the rite." His tone was rarely so strict, and when it was, no one dared dispute him. Callie didn't trust her tongue, so she simply nodded. "Now, then...take your time to rest, or study in the library. The day is yours."

Hers. If only. Before she could respond, Duncan quickly spoke up. "I will return to my quarters."

The first enchanter looked at her expectantly. "Would you be so kind as to escort Duncan back to his room, child?"

Her? Why her? Did a Grey Warden really need an escort just to reach his room? She could hardly voice such things without sounding very rude, though. "It would be my pleasure."

The first enchanter saw them out of the office. "The guest quarters are on the east side of this floor, close to the library. Now, if you'll both excuse me, I have matters to discuss with Greagoir." He stopped to ask one of his templar guards about the knight-commander while Callie led Duncan down the corridor.

"Thank you for walking with me," the Warden said once they were alone. "I am glad for the company."

"Of course." She tried to be discreet about the glances she sent his way. It was a rare treat to see a new face in the tower, one she didn't already see every day and know well, and his was admittedly very handsome. Mouse's had been the first unfamiliar face she'd encountered in a long time, and just like when she first saw him in the Fade, curiosity now grabbed her. "Actually, I wanted to talk to you a little more."

"Yes? What about?"

Callie wasn't entirely sure. She just wanted him to keep talking to her, to tell her new things she didn't know and that no one else dared say, openly and honestly like he had in the office. "Why were the first enchanter and knight-commander arguing about the war?"

"It is not my place to comment." Well, that was perfectly unsatisfying. Callie turned to him, halting them both.

"Please, I'd like to know." He looked back at her but didn't speak. "If you want us to be informed about the war, then it's only right we also understand the concerns of those involved."

He eyed her for a moment appraisingly, then returned to watching their path and resumed walking. "You've realized by now the Chantry merely tolerates magic? They watch only because they feel they must."

It sounded strikingly like a summary of what she'd been thinking and feeling all day, but Callie didn't see what it had to do with her superiors. "Yes, but they were arguing about the war," she insisted, trying to get him back on point.

"Any mages who fight in the king's army may unleash their full power on the darkspawn. In fact, I'm counting on it. Greagoir may be afraid of what will happen. What if the mages decide they no longer want to be governed by the Chantry?"

Her eyes widened with shock. Had she or any other mage in the tower said such a thing – that they were _counting_ on unleashing their full power on anything or anyone – they would have been dragged away and made Tranquil immediately. It was tantamount to treason in her mind, yet Duncan declared it confidently and with no fear whatsoever. Even when the templars stationed nearby turned their heads to stare at him, he seemed to barely take notice of them at all.

Her step faltered. She wondered what it would be like, to feel so perfectly free with her thoughts and words. To not even care about the scarecrows around her. To not even see them as scarecrows. The idea took her breath away.

"W-What are your opinions on the matter?" she asked, smoothing her voice from a stammer.

"I believe we must defeat the darkspawn, one way or another. My opinions end there." That was fair, she supposed. He was a Grey Warden. He had his own concerns to contend with, as mages and the Chantry had theirs.

"Have there been many darkspawn attacks?" She knew something of the darkspawn, from her history lessons and what little she knew of the underground dwarves. Mindless monsters, however, felt as distant to her as farms, rivers, and wars.

Duncan's expression darkened. "They have formed into a horde in the Korcari Wilds and threaten to invade north into the valley. We Grey Wardens believe that an archdemon is leading the horde."

"Archdemon?" she repeated. She thought the archdemons had been defeated long ago during the Blight.

"Darkspawn do attack the surface in ragtag bands, but archdemons are capable of rallying the darkspawn, turning them into an unstoppable force." He looked understandably displeased by the notion. Callie never considered that the Dragon Age meant archdemons, the corrupted Old Gods, could arise alongside the rest of those extinct creatures. It sounded like more than a world that had grown without such legends could handle.

"And the king is mustering an army to beat back this threat?" Now it made sense why all of Ferelden was being called to war.

"Yes...perhaps it will be enough, if we play our cards right." Duncan sounded hesitantly optimistic. Callie led him the rest of the way to his room in silence. He'd given her a lot to think about, and while she might have rather not thought about it, the alternative of what she'd been thinking about all day was no better. It felt like their walk ended too soon.

"Thank you for escorting me," he said graciously, with a sincere gaze that had her fighting back a blush. Words and looks like that tended to carry deeper meaning in the tower, whenever mages escorted each other to private places.

"You're welcome, ser," she returned. She only caught a glimpse of the quarters behind him that looked triple the size of her new room – with sofas! All for one person! – before he closed the door. Being a guest of the Circle must be nice, indeed. Certainly better than belonging to it.

Callie didn't know what to do now, left to her own devices. She returned to her new room, still empty, to change into her new robes. The colors had a nice contrast compared to the apprentice robes, she supposed, with warm gold over crisp cyan. A tray of food and a pitcher of water had been brought and placed on her desk while she was gone; the Tranquil probably waited to do so until they got word that she'd officially received her quarters.

Given everything which had so far churned her stomach with unease, she'd forgotten her hunger. She almost decided to forgo eating now, but a full day without any meals was enough to make her see reason. The dark, nutty bread wasn't warm, but it was still fresh from the morning, and soft, creamy goat cheese made a good spread for it. The hard eggs needed only a sprinkle of salt to draw out their flavor, and the fruits were sweet in the way of late summer, when they'd been left to ripen on the branch. She would have loved to see what they looked like on a branch and to pick them herself...

She had to admit, she felt better with a full stomach. Callie didn't want to think she was type of person who dissolved into hysterics over a little lack of food, but maybe that was the case today. She would take the rest of the day to relax. Curling up with a novel instead of a dry study text sounded very inviting, or maybe one of her herbalist guides. Thinking of the stockroom and her fruit made her want to look at the pictures of flowers and roots and leaves, to read how they grew and what they did. Hopefully it was still by her bed in the dormitory.

She exited the mages' wing just as Jowan flew by.

"Jowan!" she called after him. He spun on his heel and smiled to see her.

"Callie. I'm glad I caught up to you." He strode closer. "Are you done talking with Irving?"

"I think I am. He's gone off to joust with the knight-commander, as usual."

He nodded distractedly, looked around them, and lowered his voice to a whisper. "I need to talk to you. Do you remember what we discussed this morning?"

She frowned. So much for relaxing and not thinking about her Harrowing. She would feel terrible if Jowan had been restless all day because of _her_ test, if it kept him thinking about how he hadn't yet been given his. "Of course I do."

He looked around again. "We should go somewhere else. I don't feel safe talking here."

Callie recalled Alarion's earlier concern for him. She herself had been distressed all day, but she still managed to hide it from the people around her. Jowan was so wrung out that others were seeing it, too. "You're starting to worry me, Jowan."

He nodded again and sighed. "I've been troubled...I'll explain. Come with me. Please."

"Alright...alright." She almost offered to go to her new room, but then she remembered it wasn't secluded. She'd heard other mages walking around or leafing through papers in their own quarters down the hall. Not a good place to talk about something troubling.

She started to doubt how troubling it could be, however, when Jowan led her to the Circle's Chantry. It looked much the same as the rest of the tower, sparsely decorated in a fashion of ascetic humility that the Chantry favored. The only differences between this room and any other were various sideboards covered in candles, a small stage and altar against the back wall, and several wooden pews in front. Callie quickly scanned the space when they went in, and luckily there were no templars. There was only one initiate, Lily, who turned from the altar and joined them as Jowan ushered Callie toward the far corner from the door.

"We should be safe here," he said once the three of them were gathered together, showing his first hint of relaxation all day.

Callie scrutinized Lily. The woman had been with the Circle for some time now. She always had a delicate air about her, like in the fine braids she used to pull her short, red hair back, and in her complexion that didn't often see sunlight – but who in the tower did, besides the templars? She was a nice girl, somewhat politely distant from the mages – but then, who wasn't? The clergy in general were much more pleasant to be around than the templars, and Lily had always been kind. She'd even congratulated Callie earlier on her Harrowing.

But she was still Chantry.

Callie raised an eyebrow at Jowan. "You realize there's a priest standing right here?"

"Not a priest," Lily corrected, giving no sign that she took offense. "I am merely an initiate."

Callie looked between the two. "Jowan, what's going on?"

He smiled, a little shyly. "A few months ago, I told you that I...met a girl. This is Lily."

Her eyes widened. The first words that wanted to spout from her mouth were something to the effect of their relationship being forbidden, and how much _danger_ the two would both be in if they were ever discovered! But she couldn't bring herself to say that. Jowan was looking at Callie so brightly, quietly asking for her approval, and Lily was smiling at him with such affection. A mage saw a woman, and an initiate saw a man...

She spoke the only other thought that took coherent shape. "My condolences, Lily."

"Very funny." Jowan scowled good-naturedly while Lily giggled, and Callie shot him a cheeky grin. The tension of uncertainty between them dissipated, replaced with comfortable companionship again, and she was glad for it. She and Jowan had never doubted their trust in each other, and she wouldn't have him start now. If that meant letting in someone new, then she'd welcome a new friend.

"So what is this all about?" she asked. If the two thought anyone suspected their relationship, that would definitely bring trouble. If that was the case, Callie would gladly help how she could.

All the joy and humor wiped away from Jowan's countenance. "Remember when I said that I didn't think they wanted to give me my Harrowing?" His eyes found hers, desperate and despairing. "I know why. They're...going to make me Tranquil."

A long silence fell over them, permeating the room. Callie stared back at him, probably looking like she'd frozen in time, in place. Then her frozen smile twitched, and her head turned just slightly. She opened her mouth, spots filled her vision, and she realized she hadn't drawn the breath she needed to speak. She corrected that, but her voice still emerged faintly.

"What?"

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ For all my readers, thank you for sticking with this :) Please review to let me know what you think. I'd love to hear your guys' thoughts and any criticisms on how the route is developing. The next update will come next week, as per usual.


	5. Conviction (The Talk)

**Chapter 5: Conviction**

 **5 Conviction**

The corner of the Chantry they were in felt cramped, the gray stone walls hot. Callie wasn't sure she heard everything Jowan was saying over the roaring in her ears. What she did catch sounded very much like a reflection of the images shaping themselves in her mind, and ever since her Harrowing, her imagination seemed to have grown very strong indeed.

"They'll take everything I am from me!" he cried. Lily tried to hush him, peeking at the door around the column that hid them. "My dreams, hopes, fears...my love for Lily. All gone...they'll extinguish my humanity. I'll just be a husk, breathing and existing, but not truly living."

 _"They turn you into a freak, a Tranquil who can't be possessed, but who also can't feel anything,_ ever _."_

Callie's hand moved over the pocket that held her scarecrow. Her Little Jowan. She thought of Owain, standing in front of the stockroom, how he observed people vacantly and greeted everyone the same way. The flat indifference in his eyes. The desert island. The moldable clay. She imagined Jowan in his place, and felt sick.

She remembered the conversation between the guards by the tower's Door: _"Hey, did you hear about that apprentice they're going to send for–"_

"Why would they do this to you?" She swallowed thickly, trying to rid her voice of its tremble. It seemed unthinkable. Jowan – the most sincere, caring person in this entire blighted tower – the only one she could ever really trust, with anything and everything – what could the Circle, the templars possibly have against someone like him?

He winced. "There's...a rumor about me. People think I'm a blood mage. They think that making me a Circle mage will endanger everyone."

A blood mage. Callie swayed on her feet and almost scoffed. Now she wished dearly that someone had only found out about his illicit love affair with Lily rather than coming to a devastating conclusion like that. But surely, someone like Jowan – they couldn't possibly suspect him, of all people, of being _evil_.

"How did you find out about this?" Maybe he'd made a mistake, misheard something. Lily crushed that hope for her.

"I saw the document on Greagoir's table," she said with no small amount of pain. "It authorized the rite on Jowan, and Irving had signed it."

No...not the first enchanter. He protected them from things like this.

Callie shook her head. "It's going to be alright," she breathed. Whether she was trying to convince them or herself, she didn't know.

"No, it won't!" Jowan shouted. She couldn't even blame him for getting upset. "They're going to destroy me! I won't put Lily through the pain of seeing me like that."

Callie's mouth fell closed. She didn't feel offended, but she had to wonder if he really thought Lily was the only one he'd be leaving behind. These two had known each other for months, and maybe they were in love...but Callie had known him for as long as she could remember. He was the only family she had. He was _all_ she had. Her brother. Could he even tell how close she was to crying?

"What are you going to do?" Her voice shook again, and she didn't bother trying to hide it. This gathering of theirs meant Jowan and Lily must have a plan, and they wanted to bring her into it. That, at least, showed how much he trusted her, and she held onto that.

"I need to escape," Jowan said. "I need to destroy my phylactery. Without it, they can't track me down."

Lily gave her a firm look. "Give us your word that you will help, and we will tell you what we intend."

 _Her_ word? Callie's entire head turned toward the girl with all the attention of a hawk. _She_ knew what breaking a phylactery and aiding a fugitive mage, an apostate at that, meant. _She_ knew exactly how far she was willing to go for one of the only people in the world who made her life worthwhile. Did the little Chantry initiate understand the same? Would she reach a line she hadn't expected and hesitate to cross it?

Callie looked between her and Jowan. Despite her misgivings, it was the only option if she wanted them to let her help. Jowan trusted Lily, that much was certain. And to be fair, she was the one who had warned him of his impending sentence, despite the rumor of blood magic attached. She was clearly invested in his wellbeing. Callie would have to accept that as enough if she wanted to be involved.

But she couldn't do this if she didn't first make some attempt to avoid drastic measures. "Can't you just explain everything to someone?"

Jowan shook his head, anguished. "If we tell anyone, Lily will be punished. If you care about what happens to me, help us!"

 _That_ stung. _If she cared_. That stung _very_ deep. Callie looked at Lily again, and she thought of Cullen, whom she couldn't bring herself to use as maybe she should have. Her mind raced, trying to think what Lily might possibly stand to gain by manipulating Jowan the same way, to make him take a risk like this for her sake. What punishment would a Chantry initiate face for having an affair with a mage, compared to a suspected blood mage trying to escape?

But she already knew her choice. "Then I give you my word." If she was very lucky, the two truly were in love.

"Thank you," Jowan sighed, sounding like he might have burst if he hadn't. The smile he gave her took away any doubts about her decision. "We will never forget this."

"So what do you intend to do?" she asked again.

Again, it was Lily who explained. "I can get us into the repository, but there is a problem. There are two locks on the phylactery chamber door. The first enchanter and knight-commander each hold one key."

Maker's breath! That was problematic enough on its own, but in the most secure section of an entire tower full of magic, Callie doubted it was even the worst obstacle.

"What if it's a magical door?" she put forth.

Jowan went straight to the unpleasant bottom line. "We have no choice. We cannot get our hands on both keys. I once saw a rod of fire melt through a lock. You could get one from the stockroom, but Owain doesn't release such things to apprentices."

Ah...well then. Was this the only reason he and Lily had decided to trust her, because she had access to thing they didn't? It made sense, she supposed, even if it also stung. Callie didn't dwell on it, though; if her usefulness was what convinced Jowan to come to her, then she was glad to be useful. At least something good will have come from her Harrowing, and she would not waste the opportunity.

"Let's not waste more time, then." Her tone was stony with determination. This was not like a Harrowing, where the templars would at least welcome success. If they were caught, there would be no forgiveness. She could not misstep.

"We should stay here," Lily offered. "One mage at the stockroom will attract less attention than a mage, an apprentice, and an initiate."

Callie nodded, waving them off. That much had been obvious. "This might take awhile, so don't linger here if it will look suspicious. Or least look like you're...doing Chantry things. I'll find you as soon as I can. If you need to, you can go to my quarters in the southern wing – third door down the inner hall."

"Good luck. Our prayers go with you." Lily sounded excited. Callie wanted to tell her that the danger had only begun, but decided against it.

She approached the door to the corridor carefully, making sure no one outside was paying attention before she went out. She didn't want someone starting up an idle conversation with her about faith, or to run into any templars. Once out, she had to consciously tell herself to relax, that acting paranoid was what would bring suspicion. None of the people passing her by knew about her conspiracy; they all thought she was just going about her business. Some even congratulated her on her Harrowing, and she made herself stop each time to thank them.

"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. How may I assist you?"

 _"Of course, Callie. We have known each other for many years, if not well."_

Callie held her breath for a beat, then slowly released it. This scarecrow, this nutcracker – this was what Jowan would become. What Greagoir and...Irving would turn him into. She just didn't understand.

"I need a rod of fire, Owain."

"Rods of fire serve many purposes. Why do you wish to acquire this particular item?"

She wasn't sure if he needed it or if he could even read expressions anymore, but she looked at him with a thoughtful air, in the way of a curious student with a question. "What can the rods be used for?"

"Some mages require them for their research; others merely want to light fireplaces." Callie bit down a smile. If she didn't know better, she'd have said he sounded exasperated by the latter.

"I anticipate having to light a fireplace," she decided. She'd never gravitated toward what were called fire elemental studies, though in truth both flame and ice were aspects of the fire element, one dealing with the presence of heat while the other dealt with its absence. Early on, she'd sensed that she had a poor affinity for the volatile flame aspect of fire, and she had no idea what mage-level research on the topic entailed.

"I will set down that you require the rod to deal with a personal matter. Here is the form: 'Request for Rod of Fire.' Have it signed and dated by a senior enchanter. I will release the rod to you once I have the signed form."

"Thank you, Owain. I'll go see if an enchanter is available now." This was a problem, but one Callie had anticipated. Only senior mages and higher were granted full access to the stockroom, while a newly Harrowed mage like her still needed permission for more advanced items. She'd have to do this one step at a time, and the next step was to scout the second level of the tower for a senior enchanter who might be amenable to her request. She would take the long way around, to avoid Cullen's post.

The upper level library held several enchanters at this time of day, so she started there. Sweeney was...no. The elderly man was pleasant enough to talk to, but the trouble was that his mind was starting to go, and he wasn't particularly empathetic. Especially these days, he tended to waver between friendly and grumpy, so Callie didn't know what might garner his sympathies at any given moment. Besides the trouble of persuading him, she couldn't predict whether he'd go mentioning the matter to others in a most inopportune way, like to complain about why a young mage came to bother him instead of someone else.

Torrin, she liked, but she would not pick him for this task. The middle-aged man had a robust mind, and he was an excellent mentor, always aware and engaged. Unfortunately, what Callie thought were admirable qualities in a person made terrible qualities for her purpose. He would ask questions, and she was not the master liar Mouse was. She would neither be able to convince him she truly needed a rod of fire, nor would she be able to play to his sympathies, and that was all assuming he didn't pick up on her nervousness. Anyway, he was debating fraternities and politics with Niall, another mage who'd had his Harrowing sometime last year. Disturbing them from an enjoyable verbal joust would start her straight off on the wrong foot.

She didn't feel comfortable about any of the other senior mages there, who were all absorbed in their own research, so she left the library and discreetly prowled the second level for another place where she might find the right person.

Before she found them, she found the first enchanter's office again. His door was open, and he was alone inside. Callie didn't go near the doorway. She didn't even mean to linger long enough for him to notice her, but he glanced up from his papers and saw her looking in all the same. When he beckoned her inside, she went.

"I trust you saw Duncan back to his quarters?" he asked. Callie had entirely forgotten about the Grey Warden and was glad to have something legitimate to talk about.

"Yes, ser," she answered. She meant to leave it at that, but then gave in to her curiosity about the unusual request. "Why did you ask me to do that?"

"I wanted you to meet Duncan. He's a most honorable man." He smiled at her in a way that made her feel wretched. If anyone could make her doubt what she was doing for Jowan, it was the man who'd cared for her ever since she was a child. Now the first enchanter was so proud of her that he wanted to show her off to his guests. He had so much faith in her that he was inviting her to get involved in matters he considered important – with people he considered important. All her life, he'd encouraged her progress, and he trusted her.

He approved a request to make her best friend Tranquil.

They were talking about Duncan. "We spoke a little," she admitted.

"I'm glad you did." It would be easier if he didn't approve of her so much. If he wasn't so pleased with everything she did. "He must have told you about the Grey Wardens. We can learn much from them. Now, did you need something?"

She wanted to ask what he thought they could learn. Discipline? Successful autonomy? He had always been frustratingly opaque on where he stood about mage politics, which was probably part of what suited him to his position. He would taunt the knight-commander's controlling policies one moment and defend templar oversight the next. He didn't seem to like the way the Chantry ruled them, but he always chose to follow those rules if it meant mollifying their overseers.

Callie might have even considered engaging him in such a discussion, when she looked past him and saw something that made her tense. "Why do you have books on blood magic on your desk?"

He looked back as well. "I've removed them from the library. I was...advised–" In other words, ordered by the knight-commander, "–it might be unwise to leave them where any apprentice may read them. They will be put somewhere very safe. Now, is there anything else?"

Callie told herself to say goodbye and leave. Instead, what came out was, "When will Jowan go through his Harrowing?"

"When he is ready," came the answer. Callie curled her fingers together, feeling a cold seed of dread drop in her stomach. Why would he lie about this?

"He's been here longer than I have. He's ready now."

The first enchanter's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sure you think so, but it's not your place to decide. Why do you ask?"

Maybe this was all a mistake. Maybe Lily and Jowan had it wrong. She swallowed. "Jowan says that he's going to be made Tranquil."

The first enchanter peered at her closely. "And how does he know this? I suppose the young initiate he dallies about with revealed it to him." He paused. Then his voice sharpened. "You think I didn't know? I did not become first enchanter by keeping my eyes and ears shut."

Callie felt like she'd been punched in the gut. When did he learn to be this calculating? To lie to their faces so easily? She saw before her a man she'd known all her life, and watched him transform into a complete stranger.

 _"I would've felt terrible about it...but, um...but I serve the Chantry and the Maker, and I will do as I am commanded."_

 _"Of course, Callie. We have known each other for many years, if not well."_

 _"You are a smart one."_

Her hands shook. "Why are you doing this?"

"Greagoir says he has proof – and eyewitness testimony – that Jowan has been practicing blood magic." Irving sounded, very strangely for him, almost frustrated. "I cannot say more. Were it left to me, things might be different. But the Chantry...I'm sorry, child. This Rite of Tranquility will happen."

He looked so contrite as he said it.

She thought of Jowan, his fear and desperation. And pain. Did the first enchanter really think grief, of all things, was enough to make up for that? He had no right to _mourn_ when Jowan was still standing and breathing and feeling just on the other side of the second level, capable of being saved. How could Irving treat her so fondly when...

A vile thought ran through her mind, so vile that no matter how much she felt it, she could never bring herself to say it to him aloud: How long would he hesitate to sign a Tranquility form with _her_ name on it? The pit of isolation inside her cracked open wider, and her heart broke a little. Jowan...

The people they should have been able to trust, they couldn't. _The first enchanter was supposed to protect them!_ But he wouldn't. The most safety and consideration they would ever receive was at the point of a templar's sword.

In that moment, she realized that she didn't care whether they thought Jowan was a blood mage or not. He was better than everyone else in this Maker-forsaken tower combined. He was her brother. And he was not dead yet.

She stared unseeingly ahead of her, her vision filled with walls. "I shall take my leave now."

"Perhaps one day," she heard the remorseful voice behind her, but she didn't stop walking toward the door, "You will see it from my side."

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ As always, thank you for reading. Please feel free to review with your thoughts, and the next update will come next week.


	6. Labyrinth, Part 1 (The Caverns)

**Chapter 6: Labyrinth, Part 1** **  
**

Something was amiss with Senior Enchanter Leorah. She wasn't exactly a serene personality to begin with; only recently promoted, the elven woman was still young compared to most of the senior mages, and it showed. She was intelligent and brilliant at what she did, true enough, but she was easily excitable and often became irritable and nervous whenever things didn't go according to plan.

Some plan must have gone _very_ awry. She was skulking at one of the tables in the laboratory and kept snapping at anyone who loitered too long nearby. And she kept shooting furtive glances at the large door behind her when she thought no one was looking.

Her force of personality may have been why she was given charge of the laboratory. It was the kind of place that needed a leader capable of seeing method through a great deal of madness, what with all the fixtures, apparatuses, and volatile components that went into magical research. Being in there was a hazard on the best day. Also, Callie would agree that it suited her better than mentoring. She was approachable, but in the way a friend and colleague would be approachable rather than an authority figure.

She was perfect. Callie's staff clicked on the tile in front of the table, announcing her presence.

"Yes?" Leorah stood up quickly from organizing some tools.

"What's that door over there?" she asked, beckoning her chin toward it.

Leorah straightened, confused but otherwise unruffled. "That leads to the Circle's cavern store-rooms. There are caves running through the rock that the Circle is built upon. But of course, you know this."

Callie smiled. "It's strange now, being a mage and not an apprentice. I want to try everything that I couldn't before, you know?" She fiddled with her sleeves. "Can I look inside the cavern?"

"No," Leorah replied just a little too quickly. "I-I can't let anyone in there just now."

"Why?"

She sighed impatiently. "There are just...things...in there that I would prefer to keep...safe."

"Keep safe?" Callie tilted her head, ever the student full of questions. "Aren't the Circle's stores meant to be used?" The caverns weren't like the stockroom, where some mundane ingredients were kept stored for the sake of convenience, but which mostly held more dangerous, restricted magical items where they could be guarded.

"Yes," Leorah stammered, "But I...I am in the midst of stock-taking. Checking inventory. And I...can't let anyone in there in case they...m-mess things up. Yes."

Callie didn't bother playing along. She gave Leorah a deadpan, half-lidded look that conveyed how well this charade was holding up. "So why are you out here and not in there?"

"Because I...am taking a break." The woman was persistent, Callie would give her that. "I hate the musty smell of caves, and I..." Leorah sighed. She'd given it a good go. "Look, I'll tell you the truth. Just keep it to yourself," she pleaded. Callie's amusement changed to earnest agreement. "There is an infestation of spiders in the caves. I don't know how they got in there, but it's probably my fault."

Callie didn't have to pretend at sympathy. If giant spiders had wreaked any havoc with the stores inside, that would spell a lot of trouble for the woman charged with tending to them. Not to mention if someone wandered in unawares and found themselves stuck in a giant web.

"I was promoted to senior enchanter less than a fortnight ago," Leorah continued anxiously, "And I don't want anyone to find out. They'll think I'm incompetent!"

Callie chewed her lip, considering the situation. "Do you need any help?" she offered.

"I could use some, I'm sure. I've been too busy with my new duties – I haven't been able to deal with the spiders." Leorah considered her. "If you cleared them out for me, I would owe you a favor. A _big_ one."

"Me? Are new mages allowed to do that?"

"Callie, I know you to be a capable young woman. If it were the lad from downstairs – that apprentice who keeps setting himself on fire? – I wouldn't consider it, but you've mastered your skills and now your Harrowing. Besides, they're only spiders. Very large ones. Oh, if it makes you feel better, I officially deputize you."

That was all she needed. "Alright. I'll do it."

"Wonderful!" Leorah fumbled with a ring on her belt. "Here is the key. Oh, and be careful in there. I'd _really_ like to keep the damage done to the Circle's property to a minimum."

Nevermind any damage done to her, Callie supposed? "I'll do my best."

"Thank you, dear."

She wasn't sure if she was supposed to make her entrance to the caverns covert, but looking back at Leorah, the enchanter had already gone back to her task in a brighter mood. Callie opened the large door, silently padded inside, and closed it so softly behind her that only the slight creak of its hinges gave away any movement at all.

The air inside the caverns was humid and warm. Alone now in the pitch darkness, she first listened. There was a steady drip of water echoing from some far off point, and she could hear a distant, faint crackle of loosening silt. The light from the laboratory revealed no signs of occupancy near the doorway, so at least nothing had ventured too close to the tower yet, but something was definitely moving around in the caves.

A witchlight **[1]** flickered above her palm, then brightened and grew until it was a glowing white sphere in the curve of her hand. This was one of Callie's favorite cantrips, though one most apprentices didn't care to learn. While it used very little power, it required a great deal of deftness and coordination. The light energy was contained inside a spirit shield, no thicker than a soap bubble, which was in turn layered under a shield to protect against physical intrusions. In the well-lit halls of the Circle, most mages seemed to consider it more trouble to master than it was worth.

The light of her cantrip was pale in contrast to the warm golden lanterns of the tower, and it threw harsh shadows across the shelves and rough stones that made her take a step back. It didn't help when the shadows all shifted at once with her movement, and in short order, her back bumped against the door.

 _Well, what a fine start this is._ Callie closed her eyes and took a deep, damp breath. She had only ever been inside the caverns under the supervision of a mentor, possibly because any accidents could cause things like giant spider infestations. She knew how to fight with her magic, but she had little practical experience. It would have made her feel much better to have someone else with her–

It struck her that she was alone. _Truly_ alone.

Her eyes flew open, and all at once she saw the strange cavern anew. This was not the safe, flat, polished masonry of the tower. There were no guards to suppress any trouble. There was no one to tell her what to do, or what not to do. Leorah had let her in with full confidence that she would obediently go looking for spiders and nothing else, and why wouldn't she? In the tower, everyone did everything obediently, because there were eyes and ears everywhere. The idea that they were _always watched_ wormed its way into their brains until, even in the Fade, Mouse's first words against the templars had filled her with alarm. His independence and audacity had fascinated her, teasing and working at her worms, prying them closer to the surface.

In this cavern that no one gave any thought to...no one planted any eyes.

 _"Any mages who fight in the king's army may unleash their full power on the darkspawn. In fact, I'm counting on it."_

Duncan's words echoed in her memory and sent tingles of nervous excitement coursing through her, leaving her flustered. A niggling thought started to form in the back of her mind, tempting her with curiosity of what her full power would even look like. If she was expectedto fight, even against mere spiders, then she was surely expected to use whatever means she needed to keep herself safe, right?

The more she looked at the strange shapes around her and the darkness they disappeared into, the more the caves – these uneven, wild, organic caves – reminded her of the Fade. That more than anything got her feet moving forward. She took a lantern off a nearby hook drilled into the wall, opened its glass door, and blew gently on the wick inside as though to extinguish an existing flame. But air fed fire. All she had to do was gather a needle point of elemental fire energy on the wick and channel a subtle energy through her breath to invigorate it. In a second, the flame caught, rose, and settled, and Callie dismissed her witchlight. It would do her no good to expend magic when she could go without, or she'd have none left when she truly needed it. Had she a flint and steel, she would have used those to light the lantern instead.

For no reason other than because she wanted to and no one would stop her, and with her heart beating a little harder in her chest, she examined the rows of shelves set up in the main "room." The ingredients seemed to be of no interest to the spiders, so everything was intact. They weren't of any use to Callie, either, until she found a trunk under one table with its lid left slightly ajar. She opened it and found that someone had perhaps been in a hurry while finishing up their business, because lying at the bottom of the otherwise empty trunk were two small vials of a medicinal poultice.

She bit her lip, debating with herself. If she said that whoever was in charge clearly didn't care enough to secure them, it would be nothing more than an excuse for greed. She could admit to herself that they weren't hers to take, and she hadn't earned the right to claim them as her own. She could also admit to herself that she wanted them anyway. If she turned out to be a coward or vastly weaker than she thought, a single hard spider bite could render her too vulnerable to reach safety in time. And if the repository in the basement held more dangers than Lily knew about...

Callie scooped up the poultices and tucked them into a pouch on her belt. She understood necessity. Three people in the tower were about to damn themselves, and she would take whatever advantages she could get to make sure that, at the very least, it didn't end up being for nothing. She would get Jowan out of this place.

She proceeded slowly down a tunnel which she knew led to a network of smaller storage alcoves. If the spiders had built their dens anywhere, in would be in those. She was not disappointed. As she approached a lone alcove and raised her lantern to shine it inside, a loud, clicking hiss erupted from within. She barely managed to back away before a giant shadow scuttled out across the wall.

Her heart leaped into her throat. There was a flurry of movement, and the next thing Callie knew, she was pointing her staff at the spider, whose legs had frozen solid to the wall of the tunnel. It was still clicking its mandibles and struggling. With a gasp of breath and a hammering heart, Callie closed the gap between them just enough to lance an arcane bolt through the top of the creature's head.

It fell silent, sagged toward the floor where its fluids were dripping, and hunched inward onto itself. Had its legs been free, she knew they would have curled together under its body.

"Maker's breath," she wheezed, gripping her lantern and staff so hard that her knuckles turned white. She'd just _killed_ a thing!

If she'd been left to her shock, perhaps she would have melted into a puddle on the floor, or gotten sick, or run back to the laboratory, but none of those things happened. Another spider hissed from somewhere far too close, agitated by the commotion, and Callie's still-wound body sprang back into action.

She moved silently through the tunnels, walking as lightly on the rough stone as she did on the polished floors of the tower, holding her staff more like a cudgel. Not even a faint tap echoed out to surrender her position until she was upon the seemingly blind spiders, or one was upon her, and their fight ensued. Twice she found herself on the run, trying to down one spider in front of her to escape another that had given chase from behind. Both times she was surprised to find herself ultimately alive.

She also found some interesting items along the way. Many of the spiders had denned down in their alcoves behind piles of crates, which made good hiding places. Occasionally she found a crate that had been knocked down and broken, or cracked open under the weight of a large leg. Out of one, she pulled a charm on a thin silver chain. The faint signature it gave off felt like the fire element, but more like a shield than a pool of energy. Callie tied it around her neck and tucked it under her robe to hide it.

In another crate she found several handsome pairs of light leather boots, soft and new. The Circle never invited people like cobblers inside and only dealt with such necessities through outsourced orders; it was part of why mages got to wear supple leather, which would mold to a foot even if it didn't fit quite right to begin with. The soles of her own shoes were well worn already, the shafts stretched after some years of use so they were loose around her calves. Under her robes, however, no one would be able to tell the difference. She tried on different striders until she found a pair that suited her. If she was caught freeing Jowan and Lily, then at least she'd walk comfortably to whatever punishment Greagoir gave her. In the meantime, she'd move a little easier through whatever obstacles came her way.

She even found a lovely, clear quartz crystal stuck in the outer layer of a spider's cocoon. It was small enough to fit in her pouch, seemingly of no consequence, but it puzzled her. As far as she had seen, this bedrock wasn't the type that would develop quartz veins...which meant the spiders must have carried it in from somewhere else.

Callie didn't know why she hadn't thought of it before. These caverns were excavated from _existing_ cave systems in the rock foundation, and the giant spiders had to have come from somewhere – somewhere with access to the rest of the world outside. A shiver ran up her spine, and she wondered frantically if she could find whatever tunnel the spiders came in from. Maybe Jowan and Lily could escape the Circle without ever having to pass the front Door!

No. With a feeling of severe disappointment, she quickly abandoned the notion. Even if she found the tunnel, there would be no telling how infested it was, how long it went on for, or if they'd get lost and starve before they found their way out. If they had months to explore the storerooms and could do so without being missed...but no. Maybe one day, though, if _she_ discovered a way out...

At some point, Callie circled back to the main storeroom, signifying the end of her venture. She released the elemental earthen shield she'd wrapped herself in (easy to maintain with so much earthen energy all around), brushed off the dust that had fallen through, and wiped sweat from her face with a handkerchief. She hung her lantern back on its hook, blew out the candle, and opened the door to the laboratory with the strange, dreamlike awareness that no one who looked at her would know she was capable of executing multiple deadly creatures at a time. The cooler, drier air in the lab chilled her dampened robes, drawing her mind back to the present just in time.

"You're back!" Leorah was in front of her in an instant. "Are the spiders gone?"

"I've dealt with your infestation," Callie answered. "And I'm fine, thank you."

"Really?" She didn't have to sound so disbelieving! "Oh, that's wonderful! You've saved my hide, I'm sure. And I owe you a favor, so if you need anything...I'll be here."

Callie noted and promptly ignored the subtle, friendly suggestion in the woman's eyes. Leorah was beautiful, but Callie preferred men, and she had an aversion to getting intimate with anyone who outranked her. That was just asking for trouble in the long run. Besides, she was pressed for time, and if anything went wrong with Jowan's plan, she would likely never have the chance to spend a pleasurable evening with anyone ever again. _That_ was a saddening thought.

"First off, you can clear out the bodies from the caves yourself...and actually, I do have this form I need signed." She pulled Owain's document from her pocket, now thoroughly rumpled after her excursion. Leorah scanned the contents.

"A rod of fire?" She hummed in thought.

Callie nodded. "I – well...I have a fireplace. Of my _own_." She grinned, though the thought felt less impressive after what she'd just been through. "And I've never had the chance to handle any of the advanced items from the stockroom. I just..." She shrugged helplessly, feeling genuinely abashed at her lame explanation.

"Well...sure. I could sign that. What would it hurt?"

Callie felt a pang of guilt, but it was slight. Everyone knew she was responsible, conscientious, and that everything she had just said was perfectly true. If something went wrong, it was highly unlikely Leorah would be blamed for anything other than indulging what she thought was a request from an upright new mage.

"Right...there you go. How's that?" Leorah handed her back the form with a horrendous and barely readable scribble of a signature. Callie smiled fondly, tracing it with her finger, and her heart dropped. What would happen to her after this day was out? Would she wake up tomorrow and attend to her new duties, no one the wiser? Or would this be the last time she ever saw these people who made up her whole life?

"Excellent," she said quietly. "Thank you."

"It was a pleasure. You'll go far in the Circle, I bet."

She left the laboratory wearing a pained smile. It was while touching her long curls self-consciously that Callie realized how disheveled she was from fighting spiders, and she readily turned her thoughts to how she shouldn't garner undue attention right now. She stopped by her new quarters to straighten herself out and saw that her things had been brought up from the dormitory in the meantime. Her small, meager possessions – mostly a few books, clothes, writing implements, and toiletries – made the large room look somehow emptier than when it had actually been empty. Once she was ready, she draped a warm cloak around her shoulders and made her way back to the stockroom.

"Welcome to the Circle's stockroom of magical items. My name is Owain. How may I assist you?"

Callie didn't speak immediately. She couldn't help once more trying to find a hint of vitality, of meaningful recognition on Owain's face. Once more, there was none.

"Here's the signed form for the rod of fire," she said, holding out the crumpled document. If he cared about its condition, he didn't show it.

"Everything looks to be in order. Here is the rod you requested."

"Thank you...Owain."

He didn't respond, leaving Callie to hold the rod awkwardly for a moment. He was already staring vacantly into space again as she tucked it into the back of her belt, under her cloak, and walked away.

She reached the Chantry shortly after and discreetly looked around to make sure no one was paying attention before slipping inside. Lily and Jowan were still there or had otherwise returned before her, but fortunately they'd taken her advice. Lily was knelt in prayer at the candle stand in the far corner while Jowan sat in a pew nearby, forehead bent to his clasped hands as though also seeking guidance.

"I hate waiting," he murmured. "It makes me nervous."

Callie stepped harder on the floor, making her footsteps noticeable and making both of them jump like startled mice. She looked at Jowan's face, and the question of whether Irving was right hovered on the tip of her tongue. The first enchanter said there was proof and even a witness that Jowan was practicing blood magic. She didn't speak for a long moment, caught, and Jowan's hopeful gaze gradually became concerned.

What if he _was_ practicing blood magic? Did it matter? Would it change her mind about helping him?

 _"The real dangers of the Fade are preconceptions, careless trust...pride. Keep your wits about you, mage."_

Callie raised a hand to allay his worry before he could speak. "I have the rod of fire," she whispered once she was close enough. Both their faces lit up.

"To the repository then," Lily said. "Freedom awaits."

 _If_ they made it through, and they might as well try now as any other time. There was no question of attempting this scheme at night, when all the mages except senior enchanters were under curfew, and templars stationed at every corner would notice a trio out where they shouldn't be. Right now, just before suppertime, everyone was moving around and concluding major business for the day. They had the least chance of being noticed sneaking into the basement.

Lily jogged up to her side as they left the Chantry. Jowan fell a respectable distance behind them.

"Thank you for your help," she whispered warmly. "Freedom is so close, I can almost taste it."

"Don't let your guard down," Callie retorted, perhaps a little less kindly than she could have. Overconfidence now would get them killed surely as not. Yes, freedom was close...for Jowan and Lily, at least. She would make sure of that.

* * *

 _Author's Note:_ Well...this update came a lot later than I meant it to. I have no excuse, really. I'm sorry.

 **[1]** Lackey, Mercedes. _The Serpent's Shadow_. New York: DAW, 2002, p. 349. Print.

ISBN: 978-0-7564-0061-3

The witchlight Callie uses is directly drawn from a magical ability described in the _Elemental Masters_ novel series by Mercedes Lackey. In general, the way that Callie uses and relates to her magic is very much inspired by the philosophies explored in these novels, as anyone familiar with the books will be able to see. This is my favorite book series of all time, and anyone who enjoys fantasy and historical fiction should absolutely pick it up. The system of magic that Lackey has designed is complex, brilliant, and charming.


End file.
